


rinforzando molto

by phraseme



Category: Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Attempted Seduction, Classical Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phraseme/pseuds/phraseme
Summary: all of us needing a little somethinga little R & Rrinforzando molto down to the last detail—"Bon Vivant", Timothy Liu.Eddy is a terrible incubus.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	rinforzando molto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassissoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassissoda/gifts).



Eddy contacts Brett because Brett puts up his contact information in public. He pins up a handful of flyers with tearaway strips bearing his phone number, a couple half-sheets with _VIOLIN LESSONS_ in bold letters, and hopes for the best.

After Brett graduates music school, he plays in the local symphony. He doesn't play as the soloist and isn't the concertmaster; he's a professional musician and sometimes it feels like enough. He makes money by teaching when he can, but none of his students are like Eddy.

Eddy is a terrible incubus. No horns, no black wings, no demon eyes or otherworldly charisma. He's kind of shy, although Brett isn't sure how much of that is him and how much of that is Eddy. He is, as far as Brett can tell, a normal amount of charming in a normal body.

Brett isn't sure if there was ever a How To Seduce Human Beings class offered at incubus school, which is surely a thing. He'd always assumed that they oozed sexual attraction out of every pore, and once they finished with their victims they died or something. His idea of an incubus is more female, like the movies with demon marks and cursed swords. ( _That's a succubus_ , Eddy-in-his-imagination laughs. _I'm not one, but I guess I could get a wig_.) Brett has yet to feel the urge to rip his own clothes off and offer himself to the sex demon temple that surely exists—even if Eddy insists his place is just messy.

That part is true: Eddy's apartment has books and a few sweaters here and there, half-empty glasses of water strewn on the coffee table. "I tried to clean up before you got here," he mumbles, red-faced and quiet.

"I, uh, I appreciate it." Brett looks around for things of blatant and obvious demonic origin, but fails. "Looks nice."

He leaves his shoes by the door, and Eddy doesn't offer him slippers. It occurs to Brett that maybe Eddy doesn't have people over at all, or ever, and lets his socked feet follow in Eddy's steps toward the living room. Eddy's violin case is already open. His apartment is kind of bright for a denizen of the underworld.

"Did you practice?" Brett asks, already falling into the habits of his old music teachers. Eddy winces and nods. "Actually?"

"I tried." Eddy moves a few things around and presents to Brett a notebook—a practice journal with neat columns of dates on the left and timestamps on the right. Brett is impressed, and rewards Eddy with a smile. Most of his students lie asked, and the ones that don't are hardly consistent about it. Brett gestures to Eddy's violin, and Eddy smiles back.

"Well, then. Let's hear it."

* * *

Brett can teach Eddy how to play the violin, where the contact point between bow and string meet and how to tune his instrument. He can't teach him about musicality, at least the kind that turns violins from screechy noisemakers into musical instruments. He's kind of glad he doesn't have to. 

"I have perfect pitch," Eddy had said once, pride dripping from every word—and Brett still doesn't know why that was so attractive, the smug glee radiating out of his every pore. Eddy is in fact what most of his peers would consider a model student, attentive and almost single-minded when a technique eludes him. He listens to Brett with intent, as if Brett's violin imparts secrets to his ears alone, and plays with open emotion on his face.

"You sound better," Brett says, only slightly in awe of how quickly Eddy's progressing. "Still a little hesitant on the development."

Elgar's _Salut d'amor_ isn't easy, but as far as love songs go it's a classic. Brett isn't sure exactly who Eddy's going to woo with it (and the how and why is another matter) but at least Eddy will get the technical parts down. "You gotta play with confidence."

Which is the key to the whole thing, really. Brett doesn't ask Eddy outright _why did you think the violin was the key to seducing humans_ or _hey, can you destroy a human being with your superdeveloped sex magic?_ He doesn't pry into the lives of his students, but the thoughts sometimes kick him in the back of the head.

"Confidence," Eddy repeats, and takes a deep breath. "Okay."

"Let's try to play the whole page," Brett says, and starts the count.

* * *

Sometimes, when the lesson is finished and the sunlight paints everything amber-gold in Eddy's living room, Brett lingers. He buckles his violin case shut and doesn't pick it up right away, just sits and talks with him. Like they're friends. Eddy is a sympathetic listener, and curves his whole upper body toward Brett like a sunflower, chin cradled on one hand while they crack jokes.

"Wait, wait—" Brett laughs, and reaches up to wipe at his eyes. "You're telling me that you, a literal demon—"

"Extradimensional being," Eddy corrects, but he's grinning.

"If someone came up to you and said, Hey, can I trade part of my soul for musical talent? you wouldn't take it?" Brett continues, gesturing wildly. "Isn't that the basis of a million different stories? Didn't that happen to some of the famous composers?"

"Just because you heard about it doesn't make it true," Eddy says, cheeky. "And just because Paganini—"

"Oh my god," Brett half-shouts. "So it's true? Did you meet him?"

"No!" Eddy throws up his hands, points at his own face. "I'm too young to have met him! Or Beethoven! Or anyone!"

"So you wouldn't?" Brett can't help but prod at the idea, the thought that the thought that someone—anyone—could make that kind of offer. Brett doesn't even know if he has enough soul to trade for a soloist's talent, and doesn't want to find out. "If the exchange rate isn't too high, or anything."

Eddy licks his lips, laughter fading as he studies Brett with serious eyes. "I mean, no one's asked me." For a hypothetical situation, he doesn't look uninterested. "And I think it's a one-to-one thing. One soul for, uh, one lifetime's worth of talent."

"Huh." The thought follows Brett home, along with the Elgar.

* * *

Eddy seems to play better when he has someone to work with, in the most literal sense. His notes are right but the performance is a little flat when Brett uses the metronome app, as opposed to when Brett claps the rhythm and makes eye contact with Eddy along the way.

"Sustain the note," Brett sings, holding up the end of his pencil like a conductor's baton, and Eddy does. "Fuller sound," Brett says, and sways to encourage the music from Eddy's violin and his posture. Eddy doesn't act so much as react to him, and Brett hopes that's good enough for presentation. _Whoever Eddy's wooing better love this_ , Brett thinks, and watches Eddy's eyes flutter closed while he plays _rubato_.

 _Salut d'amor_ is shaping up well. Eddy has the music memorized, and even if his fingers can't follow yet he seems to know what to do next. Brett doesn't need to see the practice journal to know Eddy keeps at it; he can hear it every Wednesday. Eddy gets better every week.

"From the top," Brett says, and watches Eddy close his eyes. After a while, he's learned how the piece goes from start to finish. Brett keeps the sheet music open but doesn't follow it either, just watches the way Eddy plays like it's for real, and for him. Eddy's _Salut d'amor_ is soft and sweet, romantic and lyrical. Brett watches, entranced.

Music marks time with embellishments, makes ripples and waves when it sounds right. Brett remembers still how his childhood practice sessions would drag on for what felt like hours, but onstage with the symphony the night would be over too soon. Eddy plays the violin like it's coming from inside him somehow, the sound and the pleasure, the low liquid notes that stir an audience's spirit.

It's kind of awe-inspiring. Eddy lowers his bow and opens his eyes, but Brett doesn't move for fear of breaking the silence, the sacred quiet between the music's end and the world beginning anew. Eddy looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes, violin still in its caressed hold and Brett suddenly, desperately, needs to breathe again.

"Well?" Eddy's voice is rough and low. Brett tears himself out of the moment and into the present. "How did I do?"

 _I'd trade my soul for you if you wanted it_ , Brett nearly blurts out, followed by _Not that great, if you had to ask_. "Great," he manages, and clears his throat. Eddy watches him like a hawk. "Really, really amazing."


End file.
